


Every Moment a Step Forward

by alyyks



Series: Consign Me Not To Darkness [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Getting Together, Mentioned Leia Organa, Multi, Palpatine can go on vacation in a black hole, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21597880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyyks/pseuds/alyyks
Summary: It started with two people, a cell, and an escape.-Snapshots of moments leading to finding a home.
Relationships: Darth Maul/Bail Organa/Breha Organa
Series: Consign Me Not To Darkness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634038
Comments: 18
Kudos: 70
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019





	Every Moment a Step Forward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SLWalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/gifts).



> Lovingly: eff you i ship it now and they deserve 30k words more of fic <3
> 
> Thanks a million times to my ;) beta and enabler antonomasia09

“Keep me from making too much noise,” the zabrak said, his eyes fixed on Bail’s. Bail nodded, fast and sharp. Face to face as they were, the zabrak on his back on the floor and Bail above him ready to restrain him, Bail could feel him breathing against him, could feel the thinness of his bones; he could see in the zabrak’s gold eyes the reflection of the one buzzing lightpanel that was the cell’s sole illumination.

The zabrak took a breath, and with one quick gesture he jammed Bail’s sharpened belt buckle into the release of the collar around his neck then shoved the collar open as fast as he could. It wasn’t fast enough: his body shuddered, the metal caps of his leg stumps tapping a disjointed rhythm, and his eyes rolled back as his head slammed against the floor. His hands were spasming uselessly around the open collar.

Bail did his best to use his larger frame to press the zabrak to the floor and keep him there, and then wrestled with the collar. He had half expected to get shocked, either when the zabrak had released the collar or by touching it directly, but the metal in his hands was barely warm from the zabrak’s skin. The zabrak’s skin was cooler than Bail’s, and Bail worried that his unexpected cellmate was in worse condition than he had come to realize.

The zabrak hadn’t let a sound escape from his lips, as he kept shuddering and jerking. The next few minutes were endless. Bail felt as if time was a physical entity counting down right next to his ear, every second counting closer to the next guard round, to their escape attempt being found out.

The trembling in the body under Bail slowed, stopped. The zabrak moved his head back, spoke.

“Let’s go,” he said, around a grin. His teeth glistened with blood.

+++

“Four years,” the zabrak had said, gold eyes fixed on the whorls of hyperspace.

He had taken the copilot seat after he and Bail had taken over the crew of the pirate ship. Their captors being pirates was, ultimately, of little importance: their fault had been to be slavers, the worst kind of criminals there was. For all Bail remained a staunch pacifist, even in the midst of a galaxy that seemed to be doing its best to trample beings and ideals into so much dust, he had done nothing to stop the zabrak from violence. No, Bail had been his legs, facilitating the takeover, carrying the zabrak until all pirates were either unconscious and secured away under guard or dead. All Bail had asked for was for his crew, hoping they were still alive, to be liberated first so that the Alderaniaans could help secure the vessel and and free anyone who was still stuck in the cells.

It had been a relief to see his people, all five of them, unharmed.

There was no secure way to contact the Alliance from the cockpit, so Bail had decided to simply reach secure rendezvous coordinates and go from there. There was no point in going to the authorities in this new Empire, moreso because Bail’s original journey had very much not been legal. He remained a critical voice in the government, there was no reason to also direct eyes to his Alliance missions and the sectors of space the Alliance wished to have investigated.

Bail had taken the pilot’s seat and put in the coordinates to the rendezvous point. Then the zabrak had asked which year it was—which _Republic_ year it was. 

“How should I call you?” Bail asked, after the silence had fell and stretched.

The zabrak moved as if he was an ancient mechanical doll coming out of sleep mode, pre-determined moves graceful but jerky. He didn’t look at Bail directly, gold irises sliding to the corner of his eyes to glance at him.

“Maul. You can call me Maul,” he said.

+++

Maul was a study in contradictions.

He had a rather formidable presence, and a manner of speech Bail would not have found out of place in the Senate or coming from a holcaster; he had a disregard for his own safety that Bail had only seen in one other person, and a fierce desire to live. He moved with the grace of a martial artist in full control of their body one second, and like he was moving through mud the next —the temporary leg prostheses the Alliance medic at rendezvous had found him helped little in that regard.

Maul was a Force-user, and he was no Jedi.

Bail crossed his arms, one hand going to his chin, and looked through an internal window at the medbay and Maul, sitting on one of the beds there, a B1 droid fluttering around him.

It had been barely a rotation since they had met with the Alliance after the escape. Most of the people who had been caught by the slavers and had still been aboard the ship had already either chosen to stay in the Alliance or return where they had come from. The slavers themselves had been sent to one of the holding facilities the Alliance operated. Only Maul remained in limbo. He had expressed no desire to return anywhere—or any desire for anything.

Four years, Bail thought. Had those four years been spent in the darkened cell of a slaver ship? For Maul’s sake, Bail hoped it had not been the case. 

“Bail,” a voice that held the same cultured accent as Maul’s said, coming from behind Bail.

Bail turned, and there was the other person he knew with an almost casual disregard for his safety: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, hero of a war that was nothing but manipulations, fugitive of an Empire headed by a Sith. After pleasantries and reassurances were exchanged, Bail removed the collar from his pocket, and held it out to him.

“Do you know what this is?”

Obi-Wan seemed alarmed and distressed by the object, not touching it for a moment. “Bail, where did you find this?”

“Around the neck of the man who helped me escape.”

“Where is he?” Obi-Wan seemed more than alarmed now: he was frantic.

Bail inclined his head to the window, and to Maul. The B1 droid had been joined by two medics at some point, and they all moved with the fast and determined way Bail had seen too often during the war and had come to learn meant someone’s life was hanging in the balance. He frowned, worried—Maul had seemed physically fine just a moment ago, what had happened? When Bail turned his head back to Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan had turned white, and as if he had seen a ghost.

“Impossible…”

+++

“Why,” was Maul’s first word to Bail in the shuttle bringing them to Alderaan.

“Why what?” Bail replied, putting his datapad aside and leaning to rest his arms on his thighs, giving Maul his undivided attention.

“Why did you defend me? Why am I here? You heard your friend. You don’t know all the things I’ve done. I’m not someone you want on Alderaan.”

Bail sighed internally.

Obi-Wan had for a second held the desperate hope another Jedi had survived the purge. And that hope had been crushed in the next breath. Bail had not known Obi-Wan then, but it was well known that Obi-Wan Kenobi had faced and killed the unknown opponent who had killed Master Qui-Gon Jinn during the Battle of Naboo, and the waves of the embargo, the battle and the rumors of Sith had run through the Senate for months. Bail understood Obi-Wan’s alarm at meeting the man he had fought and thought killed on Naboo, but it did not excuse the accusations he had hurled at Maul. Maul had barely reacted to Obi-Wan’s anger, merely stared at the Jedi. He had made no moves to defend himself, even when Obi-Wan’s hand had gone to his lightsaber —Bail had been quick to interpose himself between the two then, before it escalated further. The medics had made noises as well, for Obi-Wan to leave the area and let them continue their work.

All of Bail’s diplomatic experience went to finding a way to ensure nobody died that day in the medbay. Bit by excruciating bit, it was revealed Maul survived Naboo, his legs being the price to pay, that his master had had no more use for him, and that Maul had gone to ground for years before gathering a splinter faction of the Mandalorians who had not accepted the late Duchess’ rule and working as mercenaries. On how he ended up on the ship or what happened to his group, he remained tight-lipped, only that they were not around anymore. The only hint of temper he showed was at Obi-Wan’s insistence on calling him Sith. Maul had gritted his teeth, a snarl on his face: “I am no more Sith than you are, Kenobi.”

Bail had the feeling there was much he had missed in the verbal fight, undercurrents a person not versed in knowledge of the Force could only guess at. Obi-Wan had retreated, but hadn’t been satisfied. Bail wondered what would come out of this next.

“Is there anywhere you’d like to go?” Bail said. The lights of the shuttle’s lounge seemed just too stark, throwing sharp shadows that faded into the dark markings on Maul’s face.

Maul stayed silent, gold eyes looking at the floor.

“I want you on Alderaan,” Bail said. “I want you to recover,” and the lights made the full effects of four years in a cell and being cut off from the Force all too apparent. The medics had had to resort to rather old-fashioned methods to stabilize Maul enough that they would agree to release him into Bail’s care—and later, into the care of the private medical staff of the palace on Alderaan. He swam in the clean clothes he had been provided. “Then, maybe you’ll find someplace you want to go, or you’ll stay. Whatever you decide, I’ll help however I can.”

Maul raised his eyes, looked at Bail.

“Why,” once again.

“Let’s call it a feeling,” Bail answered easily. That feeling came from the surprise Maul had carefully disguised as Bail had defended himself against Obi-Wan, how quiet Maul was, the blankness in his eyes, how much he clung to life—it came from the banked fire in his gaze.

Maul closed his eyes. “ _He_ has destroyed everything I ever had,” he said. He raised himself from his chair with difficulties. Before he left the lounge, he continued, still not looking at Bail, “I don’t want to be the cause of your destruction.”

Bail pondered Maul’s words for a long time, wondering who the _he_ in question was.

+++

“He’s terrified,” Breha said, and for an instant Bail believed he had daydreamed and missed part of the conversation. He was, it had to be said, in a perfect position to daydream and merely bask in the moment, his head in the lap of his beloved wife, in the very private, very secluded gardens of the Royal Palace of Aldera. It was a rare moment, one to be cherished.

“I beg your pardon?”

Breha smiled down at him, and Bail hated all the worries, all the burdens of her office and of this galaxy leaving deeper marks on her each year, hiding the stretches and lines of her smile.

He heard Leia cry with joy further away from them. Breha looked up, saw where their daughter was, smiled wider.

How much Bail loved her—how much he loved their daughter. It seemed there were not enough words to express it. This latest brush with possible death made it all the sharper. 

“Our guest, Maul,” Breha said. “He looks at Leia like she could shatter if he looked at her wrong—and like she hung the moon. He’s terrified of doing something wrong, just as much as he’s terrified of doing something right.” Breha turned her gaze back to Bail, her fingers light on his brow. “He has a good heart. It’s hurt, but it is good.”

Bail pressed a kiss to her hands.

+++

“She’s powerful. She’s very powerful.”

Bail found that he did not like to see Maul like this, as a petitioner waiting at their door, and evidently Breha felt the same, for she took Maul’s arm—leaving him enough time to step back if he desired—and dragged him further into their private quarters. She made him sit next to her on the sofa she preferred, with comfortably beaten blue cushions and an afghan that had possibly first lived in a cousin’s cabin and still smelled of wood and smoke.

Bail made his way to them after fixing three mugs of tea, pressing them into their hands before he sat the way he preferred: on a cushion on the floor, his back to an eyesore of armchair his mother insisted be kept in the palace. Maul looked slightly wild-eyed.

Breha hummed, inevitably burnt her tongue on the tea. “There’s enough protocol and appearances we have to maintain outside. There’s no need for it here.”

Maul seemed to sit even straighter in response.

Bail took pity on him. “Were you talking about Leia?”

“She’s so powerful she shines, she…” Maul trailed off. “If _he_ ever meets her, he’ll find a way to use her or worse—no-one should be taught like I was. I can show her how to hide, to be safe.”

“That he, that’s the Sith Master Obi-Wan was talking about, wasn’t it?”

Maul only nodded in answer to Bail’s question. Breha and Bail exchanged a glance.

“She’s only four years old,” Breha said, and Maul laughed—an ugly, broken laugh.

+++

“She’s well hidden,” Obi-Wan conceded, several months later.

“She hides herself,” Maul corrected. He looked better, Bail decided. Those months since Maul had come to Alderaan had been good to him. Both Bail and Breha were still worried about his health, both physical and mental, but Maul really did fit in with them, here. Leia adored him, and he seemed baffled by her regard. Every day he was not teaching her, she found a way to avoid her nannies and teachers to find him, even if he was hidden in the deepest shelves of the palace’s library.

Asking Obi-Wan to visit and supervise what Maul had taught Leia had been Maul’s suggestion to both Bail and Breha. 

“There is something else,” Maul said to Obi-Wan. “I hated you, after Naboo, and for several years. It was only later, that… people I was close to made me realize that you had freed me, in that fight. For this, I thank you.”

Obi-Wan looked at him, surprised. Maul continued to gaze at Leia and Breha tussling in the grass. And Bail, Bail stayed silent, watched it all, waiting to see what would happen.

“During the war,” Obi-Wan started, turning back to face Leia and Breha, “There was another Force-user who was a Zabrak, with markings similar to yours. It was hinted he was Dooku’s apprentice for a time, and then he disappeared. Do you know of him?”

“He was my brother.”

The visit continued, and Obi-Wan had nothing bad to say to Bail about what he had seen, but nothing more was said between Maul and Obi-Wan.

+++

“What was his name?” Breha asked, deflecting a hit.

“Whose name?” Maul answered. At his nod, Breha fell back into a basic defensive position. It seemed improbable, the queen and Leia’s teacher sparring like this, in the middle of Bail and Breha’s private apartments. Bail had long since stopped reading the latest report coming from the Imperial Senate to prepare the next sessions in favor of watching them. Unlike his wife, Bail had never practiced martial arts. Maul’s offer to teach him had been answered with a no and a comment about his absolute lack of flexibility. Had Maul had the complexion to blush, Breha’s answer to that flexibility comment would have left him blushing for days.

Bail didn’t know the martial art Maul was teaching Breha, only that it was called Teräs Käsi, and that Leia was learning it as well, taking to it like a fish to water.

“Your brother.”

Maul took a step back, arms at his sides, silent.

“You only talked about him briefly when Obi-Wan was there, some months back.”

Maul closed his eyes.

It had taken some time, but it had come to light that Maul held Breha in a regard no-one else had. Breha was aware of it, and made sure that at no point she was asking things of Maul that he would feel powerless to refuse. And sometimes, she leaned into it to lance wounds Maul held close and hidden and festering.

Breha moved, just enough to rest her hand on top of Maul’s.

“Savage. His name was Savage.”

Bail made them tea. There was no more sparring that day. In halting words, and only the broadest strokes, Maul told them of his brother. He told them of the Mandalorian mercenaries he had lead and the friends he had found there. He told them of finding the planet he had came from and knowing the face of his clan mother. 

He didn’t need to tell Bail and Breha what had happened to all those people he had lived with, fought with, loved. In every sentence loss came through.

+++

Bail realized he missed Breha, Leia _and_ Maul when he was away on Coruscant once the second anniversary of Maul’s arrival on Alderaan had come and gone.

He could leave a message to his wife, and one to his daughter, from the relative safety of his apartments next to the Senate, but doing so for Maul was unthinkable. From all the hints and the brief conversations he had had with both Maul and Obi-Wan over the years, it was all too clear who Maul’s master was -- the _he_ Maul was so afraid would destroy everything once more, and who he could barely speak about.

That was without taking into account the strong pro-human sentiment in the political spheres, one that saw every being who was not Human or Near-Human as lesser. Every year since the Empire had been created, there were fewer and fewer non-human Senators. Even associations with those other than Human or Near-Human were discouraged. It was maddening.

So Bail missed his wife, his daughter, and his dear friend, and could only pass on hidden messages to him while he was away.

+++

“It was so quiet. It had never been this quiet.” Maul brushed the collar with the tips of his fingers. Bail didn’t know why he had kept it. It seemed something to be kept out of most hands and hidden away, if not outright destroyed.

He could have sent it to the heart of a star on his way to Coruscant, could have tossed out of an airlock on a collision course with a black hole, could have fed it to one of the glacier volcanos of Alderaan.

He just had never done so, had locked it in his private safe in his palace office and tried to forget about it instead.

Years after they met, Maul still moved as if he was an ancient mechanical doll at times, pre-determined moves graceful but jerky. Bail and Breha had learned those were the days were Maul would talk even less, and if it was possible, he would stay on Breha’s favorite couch until the shadows in his eyes abated. Leia often helped in that regard.

Here, today, Maul held himself like he was expecting for his limbs to not answer him right if he moved, like a mechanical doll stiff with rust and age.

“I miss it, at times,” Maul said, and it was barely more than a whisper.

Bail stood up from his chair and stepped to Maul’s side, covering the hand still touching the collar with his. Maul let him. He let Bail weave their fingers together, brown to black and red.

+++

Breha was the one to take the first step. Bail would follow her lead anywhere, and thinking about it later, it had probably been coming for months—she had merely been fed up with waiting for them to catch up to her.

Maul still held Breha in a regard no-one else save Leia could match—and they regularly had spirited debates about martial arts disciplines. Breha pushed, and Maul pushed back, and Bail counted points. Bail instigated, and Breha countered, and Maul played devil’s advocate. All three loved Leia. All three moved around each other, in closer and closer orbits.

Breha took the first step, but it was only the first step because they decided it was so after the fact. The first step had been taken months before, years before, in a cell, in a medbay, in a lounge, in a garden, on a beloved couch.

Breha kissed Maul and Bail kissed Maul.

“Stay with us,” they asked.

Maul kissed them back.


End file.
